


You and I Misbehaving

by BlackWave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Oysters, enjoy your cavities, failure - Freeform, they're idiots ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWave/pseuds/BlackWave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall bake and fail to be proper human adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I Misbehaving

**Author's Note:**

> For anon, based on their beautiful story outline.  
> "Do you know how much I want a fic where Harry and Niall go and spend the day at a market and come home with a load of fresh fruit and then attempt to make a crumble, and it goes quite well actually but they do end up with flour all over their clothes and faces and hair, and then Harry insists they make the custard from scratch, which goes horribly because it won't thicken no matter how hard he tries, so then he gets all mopey and Niall's like "lol I bought a tin of it earlier, stop sulking" and then they curl up on the sofa and eat the crumble and custard from the same bowl and feed it to each other but keep missing their mouths and are generally useless together."
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Tilly and the Wall.

They wake up a little after eleven, lounge around in their boxers watching TV and trading cereal bowls and mugs and mid-morning flicks to the face. 

"It's still early," says Harry, out of nowhere.

"It is," agrees Niall. "Back to bed, great idea."

"No," says Harry. "The market'll still be going."

Niall wrinkles his nose. 

"Come on, it's a ten minute walk."

Niall shakes his head. "There'll be people there. And I'd have to put trousers on."

"It's a farmer's market. And we're in Hampstead. There'll be a handful of people who love organic things, and I bet you none of them will be teenage girls." He strokes a hand up Niall's pale shin. "You're right about the trousers though."

Niall frowns, but Harry can see his resolve weakening. "You said we'd have a lazy day."

Harry reaches over and rubs a hand through Niall's hair, curling the strands around his fingers and twisting this way and that so they catch the light. 

"We can bake something," he says, and Niall, because he's easy, really, rolls his eyes and drags one of his shoes out from behind the sofa.

They walk down to the market and it's sunny and quiet and Harry keeps a hand at the back of Niall's t-shirt, just holding on. No one does a double-take at the sight of two members of a boy band strolling down the street on a Saturday morning.

It's not the right kind of market, but Harry does his best impression of a trader anyway. "Two bananas for a pound! Two ba-" 

Niall shoves him off the pavement.

"Oi!" says Harry, but there's no traffic and Niall just pushes him into the road again. He gets his revenge by knocking Niall over into a hedge and running away. A woman pushing a pram smiles at him as he flees past her and Harry grins back.

The market's in the playground of a primary school and it's small, maybe twenty stalls selling everything from seafood to honey. True to Harry's word, there aren't many people around.

Niall abandons him straight away and Harry goes to buy bacon and bread, because they've got the whole weekend off and he does actually need to restock his fridge.

He catches Niall up at a table stacked with jams. He's being fed samples by the stallholder and Harry watches as his face twists up. 

"Nah, I don't like that one. Too sweet," says Niall and the guy grins like that's the right answer and spoons something else onto a cracker for him.

"Hey," says Harry.

Niall opens his mouth wide and Harry mimics him obediently, choking when Niall shoves the entire cracker in. He coughs and splutters and chews, and splutters again when Niall has the gall to look at him like he pities Harry for being so disgusting in public. 

"It's nice," he says, when he's recovered enough to swallow.

"This one's the best though," says Niall, holding up a fig conserve. 

Harry ends up buying two jars of the four-pounds-a-jar jam which he'll probably never even get to taste, but it's sort of worth it because Niall's got a smile for him and a new jam-dealing best friend. And then, having got what he wants, Niall promptly disappears again.

It turns out Harry wasn't quite right about there being no teenage girls, because one's working the fruit and vegetable stall. She trembles as he approaches but she's nice, helping him pick the best strawberries before asking for a photo. Harry spots rhubarb and decides crumble would be a good, easy thing to make. He's pretty sure he's got sugar and flour at home. He gets cherries too, because rhubarb on it's own can be a little boring. 

Niall's eating cheese and telling the woman selling goats milk just how disgusting he thinks goats milk is. Harry helps himself to brie on a cracker before buying butter and milk. He taps his nose when Niall asks what he's going to make, then spends an accidentally large amount on oysters just to see the puzzled and vaguely horrified look on his face. When he buys eggs "for the custard" Niall mimes vomiting.

"You'll never be able to make custard."

"I've done it before," lies Harry. He's seen his mum make it a couple of times and it looks easy enough.

"Never," repeats Niall, and Harry tries to grab him in a headlock. The bags hanging off his arm swing wildly and he's got Niall by the shoulders before he remembers about the eggs and that Real People don't wrestle in public. 

Harry likes to pretend he's not a massive weirdo, but it's difficult with Niall around. 

"What's going with the custard?" 

"Crumble," says Harry and Niall shrugs, _ok_.

He makes Niall carry the bag with the oysters. They're probably not going to get around to eating them before Monday - Harry's not even sure how, or if he wants to - and he doesn't know how long oysters can stay in the fridge. 

Niall swings the bag back and forth and hums something that Harry recognizes as new era Justin Bieber. He hates and loves how he's been infected by the rest of the band's musical tastes.

"Stop that."

"Fuck off. You wish you were as cool as Justin."

Harry lifts one of his bags, threatening to whack Niall and then reluctantly lowers it, remembering the eggs. 

"You can give those to next door," he says, indicating the oysters, and that's the sort of life he lives now - he can give his neighbors oysters and they won't bat an eyelid.

He lets himself in and leaves the door open for Niall who's ringing next door's bell. Next door've met Niall twice and they're bizarrely fond of him. Harry thinks they think he's being ironic, with his vests and non-pointy shoes. 

He drops his bags on the kitchen table and tips the cherries into a colander for rinsing. The front door slamming announces Niall's arrival. 

"They say thanks. Oysters'll go brilliantly with their Portuguese octopus dinner and Icelandic wine."

"They didn't say that." 

Niall gives him a look that manages to convey _how dare you doubt me?_ and _you'll never know_ at the same time. 

Harry waves at the rest of the shopping. "D'you want bacon?" he asks, yawning. They haven't really done anything but he's got the overwhelming urge to crawl back into bed. 

"I want pudding."

"What, now?"

Niall nods through his own yawn. "What's going in it?"

"Rhubarb and cherry," says Harry, and Niall makes a face. 

"How're we going to get the stones out of the cherries?"

Harry frowns. He hadn't thought of that. "We cut them in half and pick them out." His heart sinks a little at the prospect.

"That'll take ages," says Niall. "Use the strawberries instead."

He gets the sugar down and starts chopping rhubarb while Niall does the strawberries. They stick everything in a pan with a vague amount of sugar and Harry gets started on the custard. Niall's in charge of the crumble, because that's just mixing and even he can't cock that up.

Although. 

The flour's on the top shelf of the cabinet, just within reach for Harry and just out of reach for Niall, which Harry realizes when a pair of feet appear next to the stovetop, Niall having jumped across from the island. Harry nearly has a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ, Niall. You realize this is on?" 

Niall just shushes him and maneuvers so he can open the cabinet.

"I'll get it, just don't step in the pan." Harry reaches for the flour just as Niall pushes down onto his shoulder to steady himself, and there's a huge puff of white.

"Idiot," says Harry, and he smacks Niall across the calves so that he jumps and has to do a quick step to avoid putting a foot into the rhubarb. "God, get down."

Niall leans heavy on Harry's shoulders and jumps off the counter. "Nice hair."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

"Yours, for not rolling down the bag."

Harry shakes his hair out, generating a floury mist. His hands are covered in the stuff and he rubs one over Niall's face before he can duck away.

"Nice eyebrows." 

Harry doesn't actually own scales, so he tips a correct-looking measure of sugar and flour into a mixing bowl, slaps the block of butter into Niall's palm. "Good luck."

He surreptitiously scrolls through a custard recipe on his phone and sets to work separating egg whites and yolks. Niall hums while he mixes and Harry gets so involved in the whisking that it takes him a little while to realize the kitchen's fallen silent. 

He turns to find Niall licking his hands, sucking little globs of butter and sugar and flour into his mouth. 

"You're disgusting," says Harry.

Niall doesn't bother to deny it. "I love you," he says, but what he really means is _I know you love me_.

"Cupboard love," says Harry. 

Niall grins. He drags the cherry filled colander over and starts eating. "Be civilized," says Harry. "Put them in a bowl."

Niall uses the ugliest bowl he can find - a big ceramic thing painted with a fox-filled snow scene, complete with bloodied pheasant. Harry hates it. 

"This was a housewarming gift!"

"Mm, and I bet you and Zayn high-fived each other silly." 

Everything goes into Harry's sole baking dish. There's just enough crumble to cover the fruit. Niall sets the timer and Harry resumes whisking. 

"D'you want any help?" asks Niall, but he's stretched out across the island and Harry suspects he doesn't really want to move. Besides, custard is a one man job.

"Nah," he says, and Niall goes back to eating cherries and spitting the stones into the sink.

"I bet I can knot the stem with my tongue," says Niall, sticking it out to show Harry the green stalk lying flat across it. 

"I bet you can too." 

He oh-so-carefully adds the milk to his eggs and then watches in helpless horror as the mixture curdles and cooks. "You _fucks_ ," he says to the eggs. 

Niall sits up to peer over Harry's shoulder. "What happened?" 

Harry gazes mournfully down at the scrambled mess. "I don't understand." 

"You ruined it," says Niall helpfully.

Harry dumps the bowl into the sink. "It won't be as good without custard."

"There's some in the fridge."

"No there isn't." It's his fridge, he knows what's in it. 

"Yes there is, I got it from next door."

"Oh, charming. Nice to see you've got so much faith in me."

"I told you you couldn't do it." He pats Harry's shoulder, consoling. "It's just too hard, there's a reason they sell it ready made."

He makes a fair point, and Harry feels a little better. "I might try again anyway. We've got enough eggs."

"We need those for when we have eggs and bacon."

Harry makes a face, but he likes eggs and bacon as much as the next person and he'd have to wash the whisk if he wanted to start again. "Fine."

"Good," says Niall. He pops the button on his trousers and starts pulling them off right there in the kitchen. "What? They've got flour on them."

Harry looks down at his own jeans, dusted gray and covered in smudged hand prints, and decides it's actually not a bad idea. Niall attacks his face with a dishcloth and they're mostly clean by the time the oven starts ringing. 

The edges of the crumble are a bit burnt, but the rest of it looks surprisingly good. He'd take a photo but the potential for mockery is too high. There are no clean bowls left so Harry takes the baking dish into the living room and resigns himself to a sticky sofa. Niall's already waiting, blanket over his knees and tub of custard cradled to his chest in a surreal domestic tableau. He pats the empty the empty space beside him. "Join us."

"I forgot spoons." 

Niall tsks but hops off the couch and comes back with teaspoons and the cherries. He fishes through the bowl, picking out fruits that are joined at the stalk. He pushes curls out of the way to drape them over Harry's ears, so that they hang down on either side. 

"Like earrings," says Niall, doing his own. Harry stares and Niall shrugs. "It's what my mam used to do."

They sit there with their cherry earrings, blanket tucked around them and the crumble and custard wedged where their thighs should touch. 

Harry's never seen anyone so utterly entranced by SpongeBob before. Niall's holding the spoon lax between his fingers, mouth hanging slightly open. He mimics the expressions of whoever's on the screen and Harry stops paying attention to the TV, starts watching Niall's interpretation of Patrick's surprise, Squidward's condescension. 

It's strangely sweet, but Harry's hungry and Niall's not paying any attention to his open mouth. He digs his toes into Niall's ankle. 

"Niall. Feed me."

Eyes still glued to the TV, Niall sticks his spoon into the mess of custard and crumble and pokes it into the side of Harry's mouth. A blob of pudding slides down his face to land on his t-shirt. 

"Niall!" whines Harry, kicking up into Niall's thigh. That jolts him out of his trance and he turns to look at Harry.

And lets out a braying laugh. 

Harry tries to look annoyed, but he can't really. His response to Niall's laugh is Pavlovian and instead of frowning, he's grinning. Niall moves forward, elbows digging into Harry's thighs. His lips press against the side of Harry's mouth and Harry feels the rough swipe of his tongue, the wet drag of his bottom lip before he's twisting away. 

"It's on my shirt, too." 

"I'm not going to lick your shirt."

Harry scoops up the glob of sticky fruit as best he can and holds his fingers out to Niall, eyes him beseechingly. 

Niall rolls his eyes but leans in, licking up between the digits. He goes back to watching TV, doesn't protest when Harry slides crumble covered fingers into his mouth again, laps them clean and lets Harry rest them on his tongue.

The bottom of the baking dish is covered with pink syrup. Harry takes his fingers back, dips a thumb into the glaze and paints across Niall's lips. He shifts onto his knees, nearly upsetting the dish, and leans in to lick and suck if off and that seems to finally distract Niall. He pulls away, sticks his spoon into the custard and draws a fat, wet stripe down Harry's cheek.

"I'm going to make you lick that off me."

"Good."


End file.
